Bad Cast glanced over his shoulder, seeing the hollow expression of loss on his friend’s face.
“I’d think it was you leaving something behind, rather than the war chief.”
“I am.” Ripple smiled sadly. “I wish I’d never gone up after that elk. If I could, I’d go back, change it.”
“Does that mean you’d deny Cold Bringing Woman’s vision?”
“No, not at all.” Ripple placed a reassuring hand on Bad Cast’s shoulder. “Don’t mind me. I’m just complaining. Cold Bringing Woman came to me, and I made my choice. What’s different now is that I know what the alternatives would have been. Had she not come, I wouldn’t have known. So most likely in that other life I would never have met Orenda. Might never have shared what little time we’ve had. So I live with my decision.”
“You and Orenda?” Bad Cast asked. “You still don’t know that in the end, after this is all over—”
“Yes, I do. From this moment forward, lips will never smile, children will never laugh, and hearts will remain empty. Promise dies today. The future won’t even mourn over its corpse.”
“Ripple, don’t be so sure. Anything can happen.” In that moment, missing Soft Cloth became an even greater need.
“Will you promise me something?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“When you’ve finished your duty with the war chief, find Soft Cloth and your daughter and go as far away as you can.”
“What about you? Can’t you come with us?”
The smile Ripple gave him was bittersweet with longing. “I’ve made my bargain with fate.”
“What kind of talk is that?”
“The kind that speaks of the death of Dreams.”
“Y ou’re going to have a wonderful scar,” Crow Woman said gently.
Wrapped Wrist flinched and hissed as she slipped another cactus thorn through the cut on his right cheek. Narrow-frame’s blade had made a neat but deep slice. To bind it, Crow Woman squeezed the flesh together and pierced the skin through both lips of the incision with a long cactus spine. Next she looped thread from her war shirt around the thorn ends so that it pulled the skin together. The process was incredibly painful.
Wrapped Wrist shot an uneasy look at the scrub oak; broken branches could be seen where he’d dragged the bodies out of the little clearing. He could imagine them there, sprawled among the stems and leaves, limbs akimbo, expressions slack as flies crawled over their eyes and into their open mouths.
He gasped again as Crow Woman’s steady fingers lanced his cheek with another of the long thorns. The sting was terrible, burning as cactus always did.
A stew was simmering on the fire, the last of the warrior’s goosefoot, corn, and water. Knowing that they were Leather Hand’s men, Crow Woman had opted to burn the dried meat she found in one of the packs rather than take a chance it might be human.
“Are you feeling better?” she asked, concern in her voice.
“I still feel shaky.” He took a breath as she pulled her make-do suture together. “I guess a real warrior wouldn’t have thrown up afterward.”
She laughed, the sound of it nervous. “A real warrior?”
“Someone like you,” he added. “You wouldn’t have been a trembling mess. Pus and blood, you should have seen me. I was shaking so bad. That first cast had to be perfect. I had three darts, so I had to wait until I could get two with the first throw. They were close. I was scared. I had to wait.” He tried to glance away. “I’m sorry it took so long.”
She grabbed his chin, turning his head to see his eyes. “A warrior is smart first, Wrapped Wrist.” Then it was she who looked away. “I was shaking pretty badly myself. If you hadn’t come …”
“You’d have escaped, killed every last one of them,” he told her positively.
“Shut up.”
He clamped his jaws as she finished pinning and binding his cheek. Her capable fingers tied the knot off, and she sat back, legs crossed.
He dabbed at the binding with his fingertips. His chin and neck were stiff with blood. It had soaked into his hunting shirt. “Where did you learn this?”
“It’s an old warrior’s trick. Be careful and don’t snag it on anything, or you’ll break the cactus spines. They’re going to soften anyway. It’s going to make pus, so I might have to redo it tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” He could see the places on her ankles and wrists where the binding had chafed her skin. Her knee was swollen, and she held it out stiff before her. She wore a blanket over her shoulders, the ruins of her war shirt tied about her waist like a double-flapped skirt.